


One Good Day

by deathmarkedlove_archivist



Category: Buffy the Vampire Slayer (TV)
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2007-01-29
Updated: 2007-01-29
Packaged: 2019-05-09 03:50:31
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,812
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14708538
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/deathmarkedlove_archivist/pseuds/deathmarkedlove_archivist
Summary: The story starts right in the Buffy/Spike fight of "Smashed", but the two won't bring down the house. Warning: Character death. R.





	One Good Day

**Author's Note:**

> Summery: The story starts right in the Buffy/Spike fight of "Smashed", but the two won't bring down the house.
> 
> Warning: Character death.
> 
> Rated R.

_death, where is thy sting_

_love, where is thy glory_

 

William Shakespeare

 

 

* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *

Fool for Love, 5.07 - Spike:

… you can kill a hundred, a thousand, a thousand thousand and the enemies of hell besides and all we need is for one of us - just one - sooner or later to have the thing we're all hoping for: one … good … day

* * *

The question isn't “how'd I win?”. The question is “why'd they loose?”

That's the secret. Not the punch you didn't throw or the kicks you didn't land. Every slayer has a death wish. Even you. Sooner or later, you're gonna want it. And the second - _the second_ \- that happens …

You know I'll be there. I'll slip in … have myself a real good day.

* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *

“Get out of my way,” she said with a puzzled smile.

“Or what?”

Buffy shrugged and punched him in the face.

Spike's head rolled back, he gritted his teeth and paused for an instant. Then he smashed his fist right in the middle of her smug _expression, spinning her around. She squared herself and turned back to him.

“Oh, the pain, the pain … is gone,” he spat out, smiling wickedly.

She stared at him, gasping: “It's a trick, you did something to the chip, it's a trick.”

“It's no trick. It's not me, it's you. You came back wrong. Totally wrong. And that's why this doesn't hurt me.”

Again he aimed a blow right at her jaw. Hell, it felt so good, so bloody good. After this eternity of frustration, of humiliation, of hearing her say, he wasn't even worth a stake, because he was a thing. A nothing.

She blocked his next punch and kicked him into a fence. He started to laugh. “We're back in the game, luv. You and me, two of a kind.”

“I'm not like you,“ she shouted.

“You're bloody like me. You lost your humanity on your way back. May be, even your soul is buried six feet below. You're a living dead girl. A creepy monster. And you know it. You've been knowing it all the time, haven't you?”

She started to shake her head. “No, it's not true …”

“It's true and I'm delighted to no end to be the one who has revealed your little secret first.”

“It's not true …”

He hit her even harder. “Want me to punch your brains out, luv, to make you believe? I can easily do that.”

She fell back to the ground, repeating: “It's not true …”

Putting his hands on his hips, he looked at her. “C'mon, slayer, show me what you've got. This is an embarrassing excuse for a fight.”

She stood, turned and ran down the dark street.

Spike frowned incredulously. Weird bird. Then he shrugged and lit a cigarette. It didn't matter anymore. They would be dancing soon enough. To the music he'd choose.

 

 

A few hours later he sat in his crypt watching a Tracy/Hepburn screwball comedy. He stifled a yawn, when the door behind him swung open. Lazily getting up he switched off the TV and stretched his arms.

“Kinda late for a visit, slayer. I'm up to bed. Wanna join me,” he drawled and turned to face her.

Her serious _expression bemused him. Well, lately she hadn't been the scathing Buffy he used to know but crawling out of one's grave sure did show some side effects. And he'd always trusted in her strength to get through those effects. With his assistance.

“That day in the alley, you made a promise,” she said without further ado.

He lifted his eyebrow. The alley held a lot of pleasant memories, the most pleasant of all their kiss after that bloody Broadway singing. And he'd planed that kiss to be the first in an endless row.

“Luv, I'm an old man, there are so many promises, I can't figure out exactly which one is on your mind just now. Enlighten me.”

“I'm thinking of the one you promised yourself a real good day.”

Knowing instantly what she was talking of, he froze. “Are you drugged?”

“No, I'm sober, definitely more than you.” She glanced at an empty whisky bottle near the couch. “And I want you to kill me like you promised.”

She went closer, but he backed away. Speechless.

“Look, Spike, though I hate to admit it, you were completely and absolutely right, I've changed, and I know it. I don't feel alive since I've been brought back. There was not a single minute I felt alive. I'm just going through the motions, pretending, lying, acting as I'm supposed to. But it's not me. A part of me didn't come back and this part is dragging me.”

“Fight it,” he managed to say.

“No, I'm tired of fighting, I want to go home. Now, that I know what it's like, what it feels like,” she replied with a calm and detached voice.

The hair on the neck of his back stood on end. „Save your breath, I won't kill you. In case, you've forgotten, I love you.”

“That's why I'm here. If you love me, really love me, than you'll kill me.”

“No.” She scared him to hell. And he handled it the only way possible. “Bloody hell, slayer, what's that all about? Got a twist in your knickers? Or was it just a bad hair day when I showed up this evening? Listen, I'm on this world a bit longer than you. Fancy, my unlife's all party? But problems are there to be …”

“Spare me the lecture, Spike, you don't know anything …”

Grabbing her shoulders he felt his temper slip. “I don't know anything? You stupid little idiot. First, this whole bloody Big-Bad-loves-The-Slayer-thing. Do you think it's easy for me to be your personal punching ball instead of the one who shags you into oblivion twice a day?”

“Spike, … “

“More, have you got any idea what it meant to be Angel's Childe? That he forced himself upon me - mentally and physically - in ways you should be happy to never have heard of at any time he was in the mood? To see him fucking my woman and torture her, making her scream with pain and pleasure while I was chained to the wall and Darla cut little pieces out of my flesh? To discover, after I finally got away with Dru, that the two of them had driven her into insanity?”

He shook her. “Am I pathetically running around searching for a stake to throw myself in? No, I face the problems, try to make the best out of all. Even with that soddin' chip in my head I'm trying to.”

“And you really did succeed, didn't you?”

He looked at her blank face. “No, I didn't, you can't always win. Life's a roller coaster and to really enjoy the ups you must know the downs. However, giving up is the easiest way out. You're not a coward. You're the slayer. You're hell of a girl.”

“I'm dead inside.”

He kissed her. Hard and desperately. Without any respond.

“Buffy,“ he whispered. “I'm here, I'll help you to cope with everything that's bothering you. You're not alone.”

“Kill me.”

“No.”

“Spike, death is no longer on my heels, he's walking in front of me. And I'm tired of seeing him waiting for the wrong step I'll take.”

Her matter-of-factly voice made him shiver and he shook his head, unable to speak. She started to circle him, arms crossed in front of her chest.

“Death is not only my art, it's your art too. That's why we match so perfectly.”

“Do we?” he said bitterly.

“There is no need to waste my blood. The slayer's blood has magical powers. It'll make you stronger, more powerful, you probably will be able to overcome the chip.”

She was bargaining, he realised with horror.

“You're the slayer of slayers. You've already done two of them. No one has ever done three, you'll become a legend,” she deduced suggestively.

He frantically tried to find a witty reply to make her aware of her lunacy. To make her laugh. Or angry. Or cry. Or … anything, to get the vacant look out of her eyes.

Her fingers drew patterns on his tee and she smiled at him, licking her lower lip. “I want you to kill me, but first you can have some fun … we can have some fun …”

He slapped her face and one of his rings scratched her skin. Rising her hand she traced the thin blood line with her index finger. Looked at it. Held it out to him. “Get a taste. I'm sure, you'll like it,” she proposed casually.

Panicking, he stumbled back until the wall stopped him.

“I won't kill you and you can't make me,” he stated flatly.

“Right, I can't. So I will dance the final dance with somebody else then.” She paused. “He or it may not have your style, your touch of class. He or it will just rip out my throat, spread my broken limbs all over the graveyard ground and squeeze my heart like a lemon. My blood will be dropping from the headstones and drenching … “

“Stop it, bitch,” he yelled, “bloody hell, stop it.”

She stood in front of him. “Stop it yourself.”

“Get out.” His voice but a rasping cry.

Withdrawing, she straightened herself. “So, if that's how it ends …”

Tears welled in his eyes.

At the door she stopped. “I'm not mad at you, Spike, for refusing me this … perhaps if things would have been different … another place, another time and we might have had a chance - sort of … but I understand your point, after all I put you through, this moment has become your perfect revenge … enjoy it.”

Those words finally did it. “Wait,” he sobbed.

He gazed at her, his eyes nearly blind with tears.

“It's a deal?” she asked, sounding not quite convinced.

He tried to gain some composure. “It's a deal. I kill you and your blood will restore my former glory.”

She took his hand. “Fine. I'm glad you got your rocks back.” Taking off her jacket, she left it carelessly on the floor and shot him a smile. “Downstairs?”

He managed to nod and follow her, struggling for a way out. But obviously nothing he could do or say would change her mind. The ties that bound her to this life were gone. Neither her sister nor her friends could equalize the pain of living and make her forget her death wish. She was decided and he felt it. Like he'd felt it on the other slayers he'd killed and on so many humans he'd met in his unlife, begging him wordlessly to end their misery. And he had done it, without regret, without even giving it a second thought.

However, that was before this tiny girl turned him upside down. She changed him in more than one way, pulled him so deep into her world, making him think that her family was his family, that her friends were his friends, somewhat at least. And he started to believe that there was a reason for his existence, a deeper sense behind all that blood-sucking-demon stuff. More, he started to believe that he could get through to her, that one day she would love him like he did love her.

But once more she took his love and turned it against him, using him in the worst way thinkable. He watched her as she laid down on his bed. There was not the slightest doubt in him, that the picture she'd painted so vividly would become real within short. She was looking for death and death would find her. And there was no doubt either that he couldn't bear it to see her shattered like that.

Reluctantly he stretched out next to her. The bright _expression, the smile on her face drove him sick. But underneath flickered such peace, such easiness that the tears in his eyes started to run freely down his cheeks. She was decided. And so was he.

“Will it hurt?” she asked

“No, I could never hurt you, luv,” his voice trembled. Putting his fingers on her neck above the artery, he cooled it, softly twisting her skin to decrease its sensitivity. She held his gaze and reached out her hand to cup his face. “Don't think of what you loose, think of what you'll get.”

“I do,” he whispered. “There's another thing … I can give you a vision you can cling to 'til it's … over. Anything or anybody you want to be with …”

He prayed that she wouldn't choose Angel, though … she had broken him already and one piece more or less didn't count anyway.

She reflected briefly on the subject. “My Mum,” she said. “I didn't find her where I was.”

He nodded. “Joyce, then. Think of her and I'll make her real for you.” His fingers kept twisting her skin.

“Spike, I … I want you to know that I'm sorry about everything that went wrong … between us … about so many things I said to you and didn't mean … and I want to thank you for all that you did for my family, for my friends … for me … it's …”

“Shhh, don't be pathetic, you did mean every single word you threw at me and I deserved every one of it. So no false excuses and no regrets, pet. We don't need this bloody nonsense.”

She smiled. “Right. Bugger it.”

“Watch your language, slayer.” He nearly couldn't speak.

“I learned from the best.”

It was too much. “I love you.”

“I know.”

“Once I start this, I can't stop, else it will hurt you, therefore …”

“It's okay, fine with me.”

“I love you, Buffy, I always have and always will.” He kissed her gently, no longer surprised by the lack of her participation.

Closing his eyes he forced his demon out. Never, in more than hundred years he had to force it, but there were so many things happening the first time when Buffy was concerned. His fangs sank into her flesh and her blood rushed into his mouth.

“It really doesn't hurt,” amazement echoed in her voice and he realized that she hadn't trusted him, not even now. The pain her words ignited within him made his body writhe.

“Mum, oh Mum …” she said softly and he imagined her smile.

Sucking harder he felt her getting limb, her heartbeat slowed down and finally stopped. Raising his head he looked at her peaceful face. He leaned back against the headboard and gathered her in his arms, whispering senseless words but his voice melted into heavy sobs and his tears soaked her silken hair. Time was fleeting and her body turned as cold as his.

Her blood burned through his veins, making him feel dizzy and hyper perceptive all together. Without question, the magic of her life essence would increase his power to a level beyond his imagination. And to accomplish what he was going to do, he would need every inch of it.

Finally he got up, wrapped his duster around her fragile figure - may be it was cold outside and she shouldn't feel uncomfortable, he thought - and left the crypt. The darkness of the night had already faded into a milky grey and the sun was to rise soon, so he had to hurry.

Arriving on the hill that overlooked the town, he laid Buffy down on the grass, knotting the sleeves of the coat in front of her stomach. From a bush on a grave he picked a rose and went back to her. Dropping to his knees he put the rose on her chest. With shaking hands he arranged her hair, pushing the heavy strands out of her face to frame the pale features. Intently looking at her, he took in this picture and placed a last kiss on her soft lips. His tears ran down Buffys cheeks and he dried them with the hem of his shirt. “No one to protect this time, luv, no promise to care for anybody else than you,“ he uttered huskily. “And for that reason, be prepared to dance, 'cause I'll find you, Summers, heaven or hell or any place in between, you bloody can bet on that.”

He stood and went over to a nearby tree. Resting against the trunk he lit a cigarette and gazed at the horizon where the clouds turned pink. From the shadow of the tree he watched the sun rise, watched the gleaming roof-tops and the pastel blue sky. The sunbeams moved steadily over the ground and made the dewdrops that surrounded the sleeping beauty sparkle like a myriad of diamonds. High above in the tree a blackbird greeted this new morning with his chant. The sweet melody filled Spike's ears as he grounded the cigarette and took his final step. Out of the dark. Into the light.

Fin


End file.
